


now that I’m a ghost, I’m gay

by kiiouex



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: And has a bad sense of humour, Ghost Sex Mechanics, M/M, Noah is a voyeur, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-05
Packaged: 2019-03-14 00:46:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13582455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kiiouex/pseuds/kiiouex
Summary: Ronan swats the hand away and gives Noah a sharp look, but Noah’s wearing his mischievous, every-idea-I-have-is-gold expression, which means Ronan will lose.





	now that I’m a ghost, I’m gay

**Author's Note:**

> This was also for a kink prompt and honestly I love writing cold/weird/voyeuristic ghost Noah _so much_
> 
> [yes tk did beta all four of these back to back, yes she is my personal hero](http://archiveofourown.org/users/telekinesiskid)

There is nothing that makes Noah more skeletal than trying to hold him; he has at _least_ two elbows, far too many knees, and his ass is bony, no other word for it. Ronan usually tolerates Noah in his lap for about as long as it takes to tip him into a better position, but Gansey has declared movie night at Monmouth, and Noah has declared that he’s sitting with Ronan.

What he means is that he’s sitting _on_ Ronan, sprawling out like a huge, cold cat, all restless squirming and accidental jabs. Even on the warmest evening, there’s an unfortunate kind of cold clamminess to him that never really goes away. Ronan gazes longingly at the other couch, but the Parrish-Gansey-Sargent alliance has set up over there, and there’s no room for him. At least Noah looks cosy; Ronan runs one hand through Noah’s hair, and tries an arm over the ghost’s waist to minimize wiggling. It very barely helps.

The other three are each very busy trying to look engaged in the movie, and not on wondering if Gansey’s going to be bold enough to put his arms around them; Gansey is as unsure of this as they are. It takes Ronan a while to remember that he’s not meant to know they’re all together, because they’d thought they’d been sneaky, forgetting they lived with a ghost. Noah can’t get off himself; it makes him more than a little fixated on what everyone else gets up to.

(“Do you know what they _did_ last night?” Noah asks him almost every morning, hushed and gleeful with other people’s business. Ronan’s traditional answer, ‘no, and I don’t want to’ never stops Noah from telling him in filthy detail anyway.

Ronan is always grateful that Noah is _his_ and won’t be whispering his secrets to anyone else.)

It’s maybe the quietest Monmouth has been with all five of them in it. Gansey turned off the lights in the spirit of theatre, and the summer outside is calm, no sound but the industrious whirr of the air conditioner. At least tonight, there are no distant engines howling a lure to Ronan, not that he’d go; he has a lapful of ghost. It’s always easier to resist the street’s call to arms when Noah’s around.

The film is the original Blair Witch Project, chosen by Ronan mostly to see if Blue would get pissy about witches. She seems to know that’s what he wants though, and is staunchly keeping her mouth shut. Gansey seems genuinely intrigued; Adam may be napping. Noah’s the one that gets bored and complains that nothing’s happening, that it’s just arguing, that he set up little figures like that in trees once and nothing even happened. Halfway through he rolls over completely, eyes off the screen, staring up at Ronan’s face, and Ronan knows the movie has lost him completely.

Less than a minute later and Noah wriggles upright, a flurry of elbows as he un-gently repositions himself until he’s straddling Ronan’s lap more than sitting in it. Ronan grunts a little when Noah settles a particularly bony bit of his ass over his thigh, but it’s not more than he can tolerate. What he doesn’t get is why Noah’s positioned himself so he’s facing fully away from the tv.

Then he feels cold fingers reaching for his fly.

Ronan swats the hand away and gives Noah a sharp look, but Noah’s wearing his mischievous, every-idea-I-have-is-gold expression, which means Ronan will lose unless he’s willing to actually tip him off. But that would draw attention from the nearby bisexual contingent, and Ronan would prefer to keep them focused on themselves. “What are you doing?” he asks Noah, trying to keep his voice low which reduces his ability to sound angry.

“I’m bored,” Noah whispers back. He is excellent at whispering, the lightest brush of sound through the air, before his much heavier hand starts sliding up Ronan’s inner thigh again. This time Ronan doesn’t try to stop him, but his look is caustic. Noah does not care. “They’re all watching the movie, they’re not even going to notice.”

At least he’s not wrong. Gansey has finally made his move, and both Blue and Adam are wrapped up against his sides. They’re in their own little world, not even really looking at the panic playing out on tv, let alone Ronan and Noah. They probably won’t notice. _Probably_ is not really good enough for Ronan, but Noah finally figures out how to get into his jeans and starts teasing along Ronan’s waistband with cool fingers. Ronan glares one last time, and then brings his arm up so he can gnaw on his leather bands. Noah laughs, lighter than air.

  It’s not like Ronan was really into the movie anyway, but now he keeps his eyes fixed on the screen as the video splits out into disconnected frames. He has exactly enough focus for two things: the way Noah is touching him, fingers still brushing between hemline and coarse hair, and not making any sound. He’s doing okay at both, until Noah sticks his hand fully down his pants to grasp his dick, and Ronan’s teeth snap shut around a band and _grind_.

Blue is looking at Gansey, Gansey is looking at the movie, and Adam’s eyes are closed. Noah presses an icy kiss to the side of Ronan’s jaw, and Ronan promises, in a hoarse and anguished whisper, “I am going to get you back for this.”

“Looking forward to it,” Noah says with a snicker, and pulls Ronan’s dick free of his trousers. Ronan tries to channel the power of his glare into something that can hurt a ghost, and fails.

Noah is not usually such a tease, but that’s because Noah is usually trapped under Ronan while Ronan goes at his own pace. For now the best he can do is loop an arm around Noah’s waist to pull him in closer, and push his wrist back in whenever Noah pulls too far away.

Noah goes at whatever pace he likes, and he knows Ronan well enough now to know how to tease him, feather-light touches, avoiding gripping the base like Ronan prefers, instead making tantalising, incorporeal circles on the tip. Every time Ronan has to swallow a groan, Noah looks exceptionally pleased with himself. It’s all Ronan can do to hope Noah’s timing it so they’ll be done before the movie.

He does love this awful, awful ghost. He loves the dumb glee on Noah’s face, the weird coldness of his hands, how _close_ he gets, feline-limber as he climbs all over Ronan to get near. And he loves the way Noah strokes up over the head _just_ right, enough to make him ball a fist in Noah’s sweater and hiss, “ _C’mon_.”

Noah’s laugh is breathless and smug, but he says, “Okay, okay,” and starts rubbing Ronan in earnest. Ronan lets his head loll back, trusts the film’s frantic audio to cover the sound of his breathing, clutches Noah tighter to him while his wicked hand brings him right up to the edge.

And then Noah whispers, “Oh no,” and disappears.

The tv cuts out with the power, and then Ronan is clutching nothing, the hand on him is gone, and he is alone on the couch with his cock out. Blue makes a frustrated noise and Gansey gets up, saying, “That’s the third one today.” Panic surges through Ronan, flipping from the edge of coming to stuffing his dick frantically into his pants and trying to hide the very obvious bulge.

He’s concealed by the time Gansey gets the torch on his phone working, if ‘concealed’ means breathing heavy and contorted to cover his crotch. He survives the most cursory of inspections, at least, though Gansey does sadly note, “No Noah?”

 “Little shit’s gone,” Ronan replies, hoping very badly that Gansey won’t notice how hoarse he sounds.

“That’s not kind,” Gansey says, moving past Ronan to check the fuse box.

Ronan, aching from the waist down and painfully unfulfilled, mutters, “Neither is he.”

A minute later and the power’s back, though Noah isn’t. Ronan wants very badly to get back to his bedroom before he gets blue balls, but he doesn’t want to risk standing up. Worst of all, with the power’s return, the movie resumes; he’s got however much of Blair Witch left before he can sort himself out.

He chews on his bands, and he sends all the negative energy he can muster to Noah, wherever the fuck he is.

 

He’s gone as soon as the movie’s over, breaking away from the Parrish-Gansey-Sargent coalition who are just as pleased to be alone from him as he is from them. Most of the physical feeling has abated, but he’s still boiling with frustration. That is not the kind of unfinished business ghosts are meant to have.

“Noah?” Ronan hisses into the shadows of his bedroom. “Noah? Come on, you creepy fuck, latch on.”

There is a familiar rush of cold, and then Noah is hanging off his arm, trying to look apologetic but doing a very bad job of it. “It’s not my fault,” he says immediately, laughter breaking through any semblance of remorse. “I didn’t mean to leave you like that.”

“It was your goddamned idea,” Ronan snaps, red-faced, brushing him off and stomping back to his bed.

“At least it’s not as bad as that time you fell off the bed,” Noah says, with an absolute lack of guilt. Ronan had been balls deep in him when he’d disappeared, and toppled right onto the floor.

“Fuck you, it’s just as bad. Shitty fucking ghost reception.” Ronan throws himself back onto his covers, and jabs an angry finger at the space beside him. “Get over here and finish me.”

Noah laughs, and follows. “I’m sorry,” he says insincerely, as Ronan yanks his pants back down for him. “ _So_ sorry.”

“I fucking hate you, man.”

Noah kisses him on the lips. Ronan wraps both arms around him, one cradling Noah’s head close to his, while deft, cold fingers curl around Ronan’s poor cock again. Ronan sighs against bloodless lips, and Noah picks up where he left off, direct enough to be apologetic.

Not that it’s possible for Noah to be repentant for more than twenty seconds. “Want to know what _they’re_ getting up to right now?” Noah asks, voice lush with other people’s business. “Gansey’s in the middle.”

“I don’t – fuck, I don’t need to hear that, I don’t need to know Sargent and Parrish are working him over, okay?”

“ _I_ didn’t say that. Is that what you’re picturing?” Noah’s grin is criminal.

Ronan flips him over and pins him to the bed. “Come _on_ ,” he grates out, until Noah gives him a proper, hard tug, and he can relax into the touch again. He doesn’t want to take his eyes off Noah this time, doesn’t want to stop caging Noah in, as though it’s the least bit possible to keep him in one place.

At least Noah’s good this time, jerking Ronan off while he kisses his way up Ronan’s neck, lips leaving weird little impressions over Ronan’s skin. Ronan keeps Noah’s free hand pinned, kisses him on the scant available skin, traces a hand over his chest, his side, his hips, anywhere Noah might be able to feel it and feel good.

Ronan builds up to the brink again, and he lets his eyes slide closed, enjoying the feel of Noah’s body against his as much as any other sensation. So, so softly, Noah whispers, “Oh no.”

Ronan’s eyes snap open, and he stares, tense, waiting for Noah to disappear. A look of horror sits on Noah’s face for exactly two seconds, before it cracks into a huge, mocking grin.

“Oh, fuck you,” Ronan says, and comes anyway.

Noah keeps touching him through it, kisses the corners of Ronan’s mouth as he groans, and looks totally unrepentant. When Ronan flops down to his back, Noah follows, still smirking as he licks his fingers. “Goddamn you.” Ronan groans, riding out the last of the feeling with much less enjoyment that he’d like. “Just, fucking, go to hell already.”

“Love you too,” Noah says, sprawling out across Ronan, clammy and bony, the world’s least comfortable cuddler. Ronan pulls him in close, feeling exhausted and completely defeated.

**Author's Note:**

> ok that's it I'm done posting tonight I'm sorry about fic bomb I hope no one got four emails, I love anyone who read all of these
> 
> [tungl](http://kiiouex.tumblr.com/)


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